


Stars and Rainclouds

by hydianway



Category: Havemercy Series - Jaida Jones & Danielle Bennett
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Technically a High school AU, ballgowns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 18:31:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3457415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hydianway/pseuds/hydianway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anastasia almost certainly looks a little better than just <em>fetching</em>--she looks <em>beautiful</em>, at the very least. Stunning, maybe, gorgeous. Striking, though that particular descriptor is usually reserved for Antoinette. </p><p>Anastasia and Antoinette show off their dresses for a school ball-- to each other, mostly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stars and Rainclouds

**Author's Note:**

> a few weeks ago at about three in the morning my brain was like, 'what if I wrote a fic about anastasia and antoinette from the havemercy books, where it's an AU and basically just them trying on their dresses for the school ball, wouldn't that be _great_.' and I ran with it so this is uh, that. quite short, and completely un-betaed, but I think it's turned out alright.

Anastasia looks very fetching in her ballgown-- or, that's what her mum would say if she saw her now, twirling in front of the mirror like she's five years old again. Privately, Anastasia thinks she must look at least a little better than simply 'fetching', not with the way her hair's falling down over her shoulders, trailing down across her collarbones and over the top of the gown, the fabric silvery and the colour of rainclouds at their very best, and how the bodice of the gown clings to her every curve and the skirt floats out around her like all the pieces are stitched from some fabric lighter than air.

No, Anastasia almost certainly looks a little better than just  _fetching--_  she looks  _beautiful_ , at the very least. Stunning, maybe, gorgeous. Striking, though that particular descriptor is usually reserved for Antoinette. And rightfully so, she thinks, considering her girlfriend's refined good looks, her high cheekbones and the graceful manner in which she carries herself.

Anastasia checks her reflection again in the full length mirror, smoothing her hands down her torso to straighten out the bodice, then turns with a flourish to Antoinette, who's sitting on the edge of her four poster bed, dark and serious against the pale pink lace on the cover and the delicately carved wood of the frame. Antoinette is looking down at the heavy book on her lap like it will hide the little glances upwards she's been making for the past five minutes, or the very tiny impatient twitch of her left foot against the pile of more heavy books on the floor.

She makes another one of the little glances upwards now, to be met with the sight of Anastasia wearing a dress like spun sugar and smiling as if she's announcing a second Christmas to be held in July.

"Nastya," says Antoinette, voice full of a contained kind of wonder.

Antoinette clears her throat slightly, and pauses.

"You look beautiful," she says, as sincere as Anastasia's ever heard her.

Then the side of her mouth quirks up, and she gets that look in her eye like she's about to make a joke she hopes only she understands. The real joke is, of course, that whatever she’s saying isn't a joke at all, and Antoinette can get away saying with a lot of things that are really quite unacceptably sappy like that.

"You look like a princess," she says, still smiling with one side of her mouth. "Or a queen, all regal and glittering and about to head out for a truly spectacular ball, after which you'll be the talk of the town for  _weeks_ , and all the tailors'll be run off their feet trying to replicate your dress for the next one."

Anastasia laughs. "If only." She stretches her hands out to Antoinette, and pulls her up off the bed. "You have to put yours on now, come on.”

Antoinette rolls her eyes, but her mouth turns up at both ends, quivering slightly like she’s trying very hard not to let herself smile.

“Well, if you insist,” she says, and steps in close to Anastasia, looping her arms around her the small of her back and pulling her in carefully. They stand waist-to-waist in the middle of Anastasia’s bedroom floor, breathing in the humid air in the small space between their lips. Anastasia loves this, the closeness and the anticipation, and then Antoinette leans in and presses her mouth to Anastasia's. The kiss is short, almost chaste, and Anastasia thinks she can feel the reluctance in Antoinette's body as she pulls away.

"It's just in my room," she says, drawing her eyes away from Anastasia's face and removing her hands from where they're resting, around Anastasia's waist. "I'll be back in a minute."

 Anastasia watches her go, walking smartly out of her room, the sharp sounds of her boots on the floorboards clearly audible as she strides along the corridor, to her room just three doors down. She turns back to the mirror, and makes another little half turn, watching the way the fabric floats and whispers around her skin. Antoinette shouldn't take too long, she thinks, she's not the sort to find a dress that takes three people to get her into it properly, or one with a whole lot of fiddly little bows that always need readjusting.

Neither is Anastasia, when it comes down to it, but Antoinette is a little more relentless in her practicality. 

Sure enough, after barely more than a few minutes the distinctive click-clack of Antoinette's boots sounds out down the corridor again.

Outside Anastasia's room the footsteps pause, and Anastasia turns to the door, smiling, then stopping dead as she sees Antoinette standing in the open doorway, silhouetted with the late afternoon sun streaming in the window behind her. 

She doesn't move, just stands there in the light, and for a few moments Anastasia is somewhat lost for words. Antoinette is wearing a long dress of dark, midnight blue; strapless, a simple cut, fitted close to her body at the top and with a skirt of many layers of lacy tulle falling from her waist to the floor. Plain enough, were it not for the silver embroidery, tiny patches of brightness stitched all over it like little stars, a dress covered in tiny constellations that make it look like Antoinette's wearing the sky on a clear night. 

Antoinette's smiling at her silence, and she walks into the room, twisting her body around slightly so Anastasia can see the dress from the sides. 

"Antoinette," Anastasia says, finally, when Antoinette's standing right in front of her. "The dress, it's-- lovely. Perfect. It looks incredible on you."

She looks down at it again, admiring the fit, the delicacy of the fabric, the way it glitters in the light. The shadowy dip of Antoinette's cleavage into the low neckline.

Antoinette laughs, and steps forward again to put her hands on Anastasia's waist again.

"You're biased," she says, smirking and running her hands up Anastasia's torso and then down over her hips. 

Anastasia puts her arms over Antoinette's shoulders and links them behind her head, loosely and allowing Antoinette to pull her in closer. 

"Maybe," Anastasia replies with a smile. "But we're still going to be the best dressed couple at the ball."

Antoinette laughs again, and Anastasia kisses her. She knows she's not wrong about that last bit, and she thinks Antoinette knows it too. Anastasia pulls back again to smile at her. This ball is going to be  _brilliant_.  

They're just leaning back in for another kiss when there's a few knocks on the doorframe, and they turn to see Laure standing in the doorway, with her hip cocked to one side and her arms crossed over her chest. She looks both profoundly disinterested and rather exasperated at the whole situation. 

"If you have to do that," she says, with the distinct air of someone who's had to repeat herself on this point one too many times. "Could you at least shut the door? Please? The last thing we need is another Roy-and-Hal situation,  _once_  was bad enough, honestly, and that ended up happening  _three times_."

 

                                  

 

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. [Reference ](http://41.media.tumblr.com/428e05fad223e41121325483bb94b2c1/tumblr_nkhplayUJR1sms0ibo1_540.png) [to](http://41.media.tumblr.com/4f29ca75c663a21ad05e1d97a0b7d8c7/tumblr_nix0hzx7sG1sfy3b9o3_400.jpg) [gowns](https://41.media.tumblr.com/e1a257ba210f41dd753991bcf26b7f94/tumblr_nk10qzlOGd1sykt97o1_540.jpg). [Also](https://41.media.tumblr.com/bcfebe98ea55f4650148c451f7ae86e0/tumblr_nk0i8rExqt1sms0ibo1_540.png) [some](https://40.media.tumblr.com/65268d75e620d01858f345c3d27f153a/tumblr_nkhqitv7a91sms0ibo1_540.png) [here](https://40.media.tumblr.com/3629533de665be770da72323f030f4a5/tumblr_nkhpamwqBV1sms0ibo1_540.png).
> 
> 2\. I have to put down here that Nastya, though it sounds weird in English, is actually the most common diminutive form of Anastasia in Russian (there are technically others and there are like, different forms of the diminutive you can use depending on who you're talking to/when, but that's the usual one) and I thought that modern-AU teenage Antoinette would probably be into using a kind of strange nickname. Alternatively you can imagine that this set in Russia since I am fairly sure it is accurate to literally no places in the entire world and therefore could be anywhere. 
> 
> 3\. tumblr [here](http://morgannalegay.tumblr.com). come say hi!
> 
> These end notes are dedicated to Sofie, who demanded I put in links to dresses and get rid of the paragraph in the middle of the fic about Russian diminutives, now note no. 2.


End file.
